


Eve of Oblivion

by Exposedma



Series: Promtapalooza [4]
Category: Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age II
Genre: Angst, F/M, Rough Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-26
Updated: 2015-03-26
Packaged: 2018-03-19 18:21:17
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,630
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3619674
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Exposedma/pseuds/Exposedma
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The night before the chantry explodes Anders visits Ainsley Hawke.  Ainsley finally understands why he was so insistent on pushing her away all those years ago.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Eve of Oblivion

Ainsley isn’t sure what it is that wakes her, the chill in the air that is usually chased away by the warmth of her lover, or simply his absence. The embers in the fire place glow red, but there is no longer a flame casting low shadows throughout the room. The blankets on his side of the bed are undisturbed and she runs her fingers over his pillow before getting out of bed. She’s wearing a simple shift, unlaced hitting above the knees and goose flesh raises her skin; she rubs her arms, a meager attempt at warming herself. Despite the chill air, she stalks out of her room, she knows where he’ll be. '

Anders is sitting in his favorite high-backed chair curved forward leaning against his steepled fingers. Ainsley can see the silvery cracks under his skin, indicating Justice was present. She clears her throat and the spirit withdraws and the man straightens. 

“Are you going to sit there all night? Or are you going to join me in bed?” He’d been particularly silent when they’d left the chantry earlier that day. He had begged off to return to his clinic, promising to return that night. He had kept his promise, technically, but he didn’t turn his head towards her. 

“Go back to sleep, love.” Anders voice is low gravel, there’s a sniff and a cough.

“I will, once you’re in bed beside me. You know I sleep better with you next to me.” She reaches out to him, but he flinches away from her touch. She sighs and furrows her brows. “Anders, please, talk to me. What’s going on?”

“Please don’t ask me that.” He stands and paces away.

“Ever since the chantry you’ve barely spoken, you won’t even look at me!” Her voice is rising, and this time she does put her hand on his arm, pulling him, turning him around to face her. He looks everywhere but her face. “Anders!”

“I don’t deserve you, but I can’t let you go, I’m a monster, that’s what they’ll call me, and you love a monster. I can’t…It’s not…I can’t tell you. Don’t you understand?” His hands hover over her cheeks, as if he wants to touch her, cup her face like he has a million times before. Tears slip from his eyes, desperate and pleading. 

“No, Anders, I don’t understand, because you won’t talk to me. You’re not a monster, you’re a healer your clinic… you’ve helped so many people, so many mages. I’ve never known a man with a bigger heart. You’re a good man, and I love a good man, not a monster.” She’s running her fingers along the buttons of his coat, gripping his collar, her voice is breaking, and pleading with him to recognize the good she sees in him.

His hands to cup her face, shaking thumbs slip over her lips, stopping her words. “Don’t. Don’t placate me, please don’t….Stop talking, walk away from me, hate me, I am beyond redemption, I don’t want redemption. Go back to bed and forget I was ever here.” Ainsley shakes her head dislodging the tears clinging to her lashes. She grabs his wrists holding him as tight as she can and shakes her head again, she’s not leaving him like this. “I love you,” he whispers pressing his forehead against hers, “please remember that. I love you.” He removes his thumbs from her lips and kisses her. It’s hard and demanding, and she can feel his jaw shake as he tries to master his own tears. 

Anders hands fist in her long black hair tilting her head back to deepen the kiss. He’s pushing her backwards until her hip crash against a table whose sole purpose is to hold up a vase with flower cuttings, it shatters against the stone floor. The water seeping into the rug below doesn’t register as needy hands pull against clothing, Ainsley’s shift is yanked up and with no preamble her smalls are pulled down. They’re dangling from her ankle when she’s lifted onto the table, Anders fingers digging into her skin hard enough to leave bruises.   
Ainsley tries to pull away, tries to slow things down and talk to him, to get him to look at her instead of giving into desperate passion. She tries but he knows her body, knows how to enflame her, and her attempts at slowing down, and finding clarity is chased away with his hot mouth and skilled fingers. He touches her until she’s slick with need, until the thoughts in her mind are focused solely on the physical. 

“Anders.” He bites her lower lip, and the words are stolen. “Look at m…” He cups her sex; sliding two fingers into her, stretching her and her words become a gasp. It’s not a slow build up; she’s rocking her hips, frantic to meet his fingers. His other hand is still fisted in her hair, angling her head up and he’s kissing her neck, scraping teeth against collar bone, he groans when she begs, “please Anders.”

He tugs her off the table, eyes meeting in one brief moment, and Ainsley’s heart breaks at the near manic fear she sees mirrored back at her. He’s begging her wordlessly and she doesn’t know what it is she can give him that will bring him back from the ledge he seems insistent on walking. He kisses her softly before turning her, bending her at the hip against the table, his booted feet nudge her legs open wider, and she can feel his clothed erection against her damp core. Ainsley looks over her shoulder in time to see his jacket drop from his shoulders; she hears the metal buckle of his belt unclasp before he frees his cock from the confines of his pants. Anders rubs himself between her folds once before thrusting in to the hilt, her lips open in a wordless cry. He snaps his hips again, pulling a harsh gasp from her throat. 

The pace he sets is punishing, her feet can’t find purchase on the floor, toes pushing feebly against bits of broken vase. The table bites into her hips, bruising and rubbing the skin raw, she claws at the table, the dark varnish depositing under her finger nails. Each hard thrust is punctuated with her keening moans. Anders grabs a fist full of her hair, pulling her face off the table, using her as leverage, her scalp is aflame with pain and tears prick at her eyes, she cries out with a blasphemous prayer. Her breasts swing out of her shift, hard nipples dragging across the table top. His free hand reaches between her legs, sliding against her clit, circling in time with his hips. He pulls her up, her head held at severe angle, forcing her mouth to hang open. Her moaning has become one singular undulating desperate sound, breaking only to beg and whimper his name. She can feel his brow, damp with sweat against her shoulder; hear his hard breathing and the tight grunts with each slide into her. 

The orgasm slams into her hard, and she pulls against his hands jerking her hips, fire igniting at the tips of her fingers dragging scorch marks across the table. He drops her head when he’s close, and Ainsley gasps air into her lungs, beads of sweat slipping down her back and breasts. Her arms shake and the table scrapes against the floor and Anders shouts his release, filling her. He encircles her waist with strong arms and he pulls her close, up against his chest, his lips against the shell of her ear as he catches his breath, puffing against her fevered skin. 

“Are you satisfied?” The voice isn’t Anders and Ainsley’s blood runs cold. She tries to shake out of his grasp but he holds tight. Silvery veins glisten beneath the sweat and skin of his arms. “You are a distraction we no longer need.” Justice’s voice is cruel and hard.

Ainsley can feel her stomach lurch, bile in her throat and she feels his softened cock slip out of her, feels his seed slip down her thigh. Tears fall silently from her eyes and she shivers from the cold. Justice releases her and she crumples to the floor folding in on herself, shaking with grief. 

“Ainsley? Love?” She flinches from the touch of his hand, “it wasn’t him.” His voice is so small.

“Wasn’t it?” She looks up finding his hazel eyes in the dark and his face is ashen. 

“I…he…no. My love.” Anders reaches towards her again and she shakes her head once as a warning. “I’m so sorry, Ainsley, I swear he didn’t touch you.”

“What did you do in the chantry?” She stands on shaky legs, holding the table for support, demanding an answer.

But it’s Justice who answers, “you will not meddle,” He snarls stepping forward, grabbing her throat. “You have distracted us from our purpose long enough. You will not interfere now.” His hand squeezes. 

Ainsley pulls at her magic bringing burning fingers to the slivery veined skin. The pain of burning skin is enough to drive the spirit away leaving Anders looking horrified, pulling the offending hand away from her neck. 

“Get out.” Her voice is deathly quiet.

“I’m sorry.” He whispers.

“GET OUT!” She screams.

Anders nods, stumbling back, pain and regret write plainly on his face. His mouth opens and closes, but there are no words that can repair what has happened. Only when Ainsley hears the latch and lock of the cellar door does she cry, pulling at her hair. He had warned her, years ago that he would bring her only pain. That she would come to regret loving him. Ainsley was never good at listening.


End file.
